Pas des Deux
Her days recorded by the loads of bleached sheets
blowing in the wind, chopped apples and
beef stews and how many times she has wiped her
hands on stained aprons or furrowed
brows. She has birthed the children that now
determine societal rules of what is “chic” - what
is “passer.” Her mind is full of the ballet she
never danced, the Sonata's she never heard, the
pearls she never wore.
She
mends the socks with pin-pricked fingers, by the light of the too dim lamp and
fills kettles
of
water to make the tea, the broths, the scouring water. Her husband's deep sighs
tell her of
his
day. She brushes out her hair and counts the strokes, doing so languidly; her
only time of
solace. Her mind is full and brimming with words she
never spoke, never wrote, never read;
never
will.
“The dancers are in perfect formation, bras Au
repros, stage lights in little beams of
radiance upon them; while the poetry of the
motion takes flight, fluttering like the
wings of a swan. For the moment, she is there
among them; alive in the music, the
fluidity of body; a sonnet unto itself. The
cello's moan their choruses, the violin's
haunting vibrato and the dancers are alive,
like leaves caught in a whirlwind.”
A
light streams in through frosted glass and worn lace curtains, introducing her
to another
day,
not welcoming, just announcing that she is alive one more day. There on the
hook is her
house
dress with the faded daisies, the tatted collar, as familiar to her as her
skin; without
fanfare
is dropped over her head. She will dance with her mop; she will scrub with
artist’s f
fingers until they are red and chaffed.
Like
the sculptor, hands wrist-deep in clay, she kneads the dough for dinner, and
with her
painter's
brush, she will butter their tops in gentle strokes. She lifts the old iron and
with her
spit,
hears its sizzle that it is hot enough to make perfect pleats and beautiful
creases where
cuffs
and collars meet sleeve. She is Picasso, she is Rembrandt, she is Monet, she is
woman
in
form, artist in mind.
“They are tuning, bass, cellos, string section,
flutes and woodwinds, a cacophony of
noise, yet beautiful. The conductor stands,
takes his place, taps his baton three times
and the sound of heaven erupts. She feels it
thunder in her chest and the sound
resonates within her. She is seated among
them, her arms furiously working the bow,
head bent as if listening to her lover's
words.”
She
is looking at her hands, like tissue paper that had been bunched into a ball
and again
unfolded.
They look foreign to her yet as familiar as her mothers were. Ah, the time has
finally
arrived,
the day she takes leave. There are murmurs of sadness around her bed but she is
oddly
at peace as she looks to each of them, sees their sorrow, their fear; their
relief. She closes
her eyes and suddenly
she is music.
Every
blade of grass she has felt beneath her feet is a part of her, every bird she
heard sing is
singing
for her, children’s laughter is her laughter, every tear she has wiped is her
tear and
every
caress, touch, every word of love is there in her heart. Her life is complete; her time
now is depleted, with no thoughts of regret. Duality has been kind.
She travelled never, but
has been everywhere inside her.
“The audience is up on their feet; thunderous
applause fills the hall. She takes centre
stage in Pas de Marche. She curtsies and
welcomes the bouquets being thrown at her
feet. She curtsies again and in glissade,
exits the stage. The orchestra plays its final
refrain. The stage lights dim as the Madame’s
est Monsieur file out quietly with
whispers of awe, of wonder upon their lips.”
Brenda-Lee Ranta resides in northern
Ontario, Canada.
She shares her journey with her life
partner who is a drummer, lyricist and recently published poet. She is the
mother of three children, two step-children and three grand-children.
She is employed with her local police
service, enjoys writing songs with her partner, singing, reading, doing yoga
and meditating, but spends the majority of her free time writing.
Inspired by the great poets, she credits
song writers and lyricists for her love of the fluidity of words. She has been
greatly influenced by the raw, honest poetry and lyrics of the late, Leonard Cohen.
A writer for over 51 years of her life,
she has two poetry books published with CTU Publishing Group, “Myriad of
Perceptions and Allegories – a Thirst for Connection.” Both books attained a five-star
rating with Reader’s Favorite. She also
has poetry published in three poetry Anthologies by Creative Talents
Unleashed.
Brenda also enjoys writing short prose
stories. She is presently working on
her first novel.
Tags:
Short Fiction
I thank you so much !
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